The Wrong Child
by TheDreamerofStories
Summary: The Wrong BWL. Ron, Hermione, Harry, Triplets. Ron was 'chosen' as BWL and his siblings were shunned, forgotten, when in truth they were the ones who destroyed Voldemort, together. However the rest of the world doesn't know that and cares not for the emerald eyed twins. Instead Ron gets all the glory and Harry and Mione are left in his shadows, growing to hate him


AN: Here is my attempt at a 'Wrong BWL' story. I hope I do well or whatever. If not, well who cares :3. My story. I'm still not sure about pairings.

(I'm thinking Luna/Hermione cause its cute if written well (which I will have to do to the best of my ability ) and Harry/Draco. Or possibly Harry/Weasley Twins or Harry/Tom Riddle (a different Riddle) Any opinions?)

Reading and Reviewing is lovely of course, since it is fuel for my writing engine, food for my fanfic horse, or whatever. :P

Enjoy, I hope

**The Wrong Child - Prologue:**

The wind howled outside the small house, trees swaying in the air. It was quiet within the house, only the sounds of breathing and the mutterings of a man who bore some similarity to a rat, his buck teeth chattering as he murmured. His fingers were pulling at threads on his robe nervously as his pale blue eyes flickered erratically, wide and watchful as he acted like a cornered rodent in front of a large ravenous cat.

His ears seemed to twitch as a familiar popping sound was heard from beyond the wards. He stood, his stature short and fat, his hair mousy brown. Peter's watery eyes held fear as he beheld the cloaked figure who strolled through the door. A malevolent smirk was upon the taller man's features as he looked around the place, examining every inch with disdain. The cloaked man would look handsome if it were not for the sneer upon his face and the glowing red eyes which promised terror and fear and pain upon all he saw unworthy.

Pettigrew bowed shakily as he said in a quiet stuttering voice, shying away in fear of the dark presence "W-w-welcome my lord. The ch-ch-children are this way." He went to show his master the way but Voldemort stopped him with a swish of his wand.

"I can find my own way Wormtail. No rat will ever lead me." His words were smooth, quiet, yet carried the power he held in his tall form, and the contempt and disgust he looked and felt for the feeble traitorous man who cowered before him. So unlike the supposed Gryffindor he was meant to be. Pathetic.

The self proclaimed Dark Lord swept forward, the very air growing cold and dark as his own aura contaminated the once happy place. To those who experienced and survived that event would liken it to the deathly chill of a dementors presence. Deliberate footsteps, silent as a slithering snake in the grass took him up the stairs towards his goal. If anyone saw him then with that growing smirk at his coming triumph on his face, they would think that he was gleeful and happy, if it were not for the man, or what was once a man, lacking the capability to hold such emotions within his broken dissected soul. A soul broken by his own hand and wand from his malicious deeds.

Voldemort's white wand flicked again, his tainted phoenix feather core serving him as well as it always had causing the door to silently swing open on its hinges. The wizard stepped through the doorway, his selfish servant standing behind him.

* * *

Two of the children in the soon-to-be invaded room were upset. The third lay sleeping lazily in his cot on the opposite side, the least active and the slowest of the triplets, despite being first born.

They had been put in their cots by their mother and father who said they had an important meeting for the order, although they explained to the young children with words more along the lines of "Mummy and Daddy have to go somewhere okay? Peter will look after you while we're gone." Neither of the children had fully understood of course, the second child, a female, only understanding a bit more than her little brother. However both had felt scared. Today felt like a bad day to them. Neither liked the rat. They knew he was no good.

So when their parents had left them with him they were confused and scared, as much as children of their age, nearly one year and three months, could be. Especially when the rat man had looked at them with spite, no matter how little they understood that look. Then he had left the room and locked the door with a loud click.

The oldest, also known as Ronald, or Ron, was sleeping, unaware of the strange occurrences, just as oblivious now as he would be in his later years.

The two youngest of the triplets were trying to reach each other, to play or gain comfort or laugh or find some way to be happy and smiley again.

Hermione, or Maya as she was affectionately nicknamed was frowning as toddlers do at her crib, wishing she could get to Harry, the youngest of the three. Harry was peering at her with emerald green eyes, identical to Maya's own orbs, also wishing she were closer. With their combined 'Wishes' the cot moved, scraping across the carpeted floor. It stopped right next to Harry's one, the bars touching.

Harry giggled at the 'wish' power and reached with a chubby hand for his big sister. He almost cried at the barrier which stopped them from playing. Maya frowned again then, grabbing the crib bars for supports, rose up onto shaky legs and tried to climb the wall between them. Each time she slipped down to her blanket she tried again, stubborn as a mule.

Finally she stopped, after many discouraging attempts. Her eyes began to water as she started wailing. Maya couldn't get to her Harry and she didn't like that one bit. Still, through this, the eldest did not rouse from his sleep. He continued to dream of food and playing on broomsticks with his daddy, happy in his rest while the other two were sad.

Peter came by briefly to past the door, hushing them through the wooden barrier. When the child did not quiet he merely shuffled back to the entrance of the house downstairs, continuing his nervous twitching as he awaited his master.

Harry, hating to see his Maya cry like that reached out to her through the bars and grabbed her chubby hand with his own. Finally the toddler's tears stopped and Hermione smiled. Harry grinned back with a toothy smile, a few small teeth in his mouth with gaps in places.

Suddenly the barriers disappeared and Maya crawled over to Harry's side, previous sadness forgotten as they began to laugh and play, giggling childishly with red faces and messy hair, clapping their hands in joy and babbling with baby talk, some recognizable words like 'pway', 'mya', 'hawee', 'fun' thrown about along with some gestures like blowing kisses or faces at each other as they played happily. 'Dwagon' and 'woofy' and 'doggy' spoken too on occasion, along with 'moony' and 'paddy' as they played with their plush toys held in the cot, toys representing those creatures.

However their fun stopped abruptly and they clutched each other and their toys as they felt the darkness in their home. They did not cry or scream at the presence but fell silent, lips quivering as it grew colder and colder, fear growing as they wondered. Where were mummy and daddy? They wanted their mummy and daddy, daddy would go prongs and protect them, wouldn't he? Would mummy come rushing in to save them from whatever was coming?

The door swung open, silent, and the two toddlers watched with wide emerald eyes as the person who the dark power surrounded entered their sanctuary, tainting it with his vile nature.

* * *

Lord Voldemort swept into the room with a smirk on his face, one raised in one hand. He did pause however at the sight that confronted him. Three cribs and three children, one female and two males, one dark haired the other fiery red. He did not know which to choose, which the prophecy spoke of. The man once known as Tom Marvolo Riddle turned to his minion who quivered as that glowing gaze settled upon his pathetic plump form.

"Which one was born last, wormtail?" Voldemort asked, his voice a hiss, sibilant like the snake he and his ancestors loved. He hated to have to ask the rat anything, but details about the children had been withheld from everyone, and no matter how hard his followers had tried they had found no more details about them. It disappointed their master greatly and often incurred their lord's wrath upon them, curses of crucio _caressing_ their forms before his rage would subside. A pity, some of his followers minds had been lost from the administrations, but it was truly their own fault for not having found such valuable information.

"R-r-ronald, the black haired boy m-m-my lord." stuttered Peter. Unfortunately, Peter did not know the names of the children well, often mixing them up and saying them incorrectly, much to the annoyance of Maya and Harry who would use their 'wishes' to bother the rat, or Maya would rip his hair out if he ever picked them up, with her feisty temper even at this age.

Voldemort however did not know the mistake, which would cause problems later. However for now he turned to his minion and hissed out "Wormtail, my use for you is over." He took pleasure in the sight of the confused wizard, if you could call the pathetic rat that, before him, standing with a bewildered face.

Wormtail stood confused as his master slowly raised his wand. Why was he not being rewarded for his work? Surely the lord must have liked the trick he did in becoming the secret keeper. But no reward would come. Only punishment.

The Dark Lord did not care much for Wormtail (or anyone but himself for that matter) but he decided to make the rat suffer. He would not expend a _Avada Kedavra_ on that feeble man, who in his opinion was not deserving of it. Wormtail could suffer, and live and tell his _friends _what he had done when he left him for dead. Yes, that would be perfect. He hissed in pleasure at his clever idea, for the Potters to know and learn in such a way would be perfect.

With a whispered 'Reducto' the mousy mans legs were in slivers, but he was still alive. He wouldn't die. Voldemort, who preferred to be prepared with potions from a master in case of any incident, no matter how unlikely, procured one and poured it down the traitors throat, taking pleasure in the howls of pain from the man. The potion was actually one to paralyze the taker. It was useful when torturing magical s, as they always tried _so hard _ to get out, to escape. It was rather silly and futile. However, it allowed them to feel the pain but not die from it, a rather useful thing for tortures which often killed. Although it did not halt the effects of continuous _crucio_ing, but that was all the mind and not the body.

He then silently _wingardium leviosa_'d the man out the window, through the glass, glad the repulsive rat was out of his sight. Now it was the Voldemort's time to become invincible, since if he killed these children he would not be able to killed by any other.

'He who must not be named' turned towards the crib which contained the black haired boy. _Ronald_. So this was the one meant to defeat him. His lip curled up in disgust as he hissed at the little child, who merely clutched at a toy dog and whimpered, trying to inch back in the corner. His emerald eyes were wide. So green they almost glowed in the dark room. His own red glowing eyes spotted another set of green, glaring at him fearfully. The girl sat slightly behind her brother, holding her own wolf toy.

Voldemort looked at them, watching him fearfully, and laughed. It was not a jubilant sound, nor mirthful. It was the laugh of a mad man, broken, evil, dark. It contained so much malice it made the third child with the red hair wake in his own cot, finally, and from which he immediately started to scream and wail and cry in fear.

"You. A child. Defeat me? By Salazar how Dumbledore deemed such a thing so is dubious to be sure. But no matter, another three children s lives on my hands will not change much, only make the world see how far my cruelty truly goes." His voice was so disbelieving, full of hisses and laughter and his insanity. It boomed through the house and seemed to just make the place darker.

Finally the Dark Lord lifted his yew wand and pointed it at 'Ronald'. He said those fateful words with a malicious smile, expecting to enjoy watching the light flash out of the boys eyes as he fell back, never to breath again. He, however, did not expect the gold and silver barrier to surround the toddlers. Harry and Hermione were sitting clutching each other's hand and their teddies to their chests as the bad man tried to shoot green at them. They knew he was bad, 'scawy'. So they reacted, 'wishing' and wishing that the bad man would just go away, leave them alone and not try to hurt them. Hermione started glowing silver as the moon, and Harry golden as the sun as the green light sped towards them. Then light illuminated the room, above them a dome was formed. The green light reflected and flew right back at the bad man, with gold and silver mixing into the emerald color, reminiscent of their own eyes.

The spell, warped by the children's magic did just as they wished, it took the bad man away. Far far away. With suddenness his body spontaneously combusted, a fire which could not be put out by his yew wand and the Dark Lord soon succumbed to it, crumbling to ash. And from his ash pile a dark wraith was sent flying, so far, weakened beyond measure. And a part of it cut off from the rest, disappearing farther away than its core.

His wand did not burn, as the magic touched it, instead it exploded, for it could not bare the deeds it had done by its old master, as the taint was washed away from the Phoenix Core by the Harry and Hermione's joint magic. The shards flew through the room at lightning speeds. None reached the two silent children, their dome protecting them. One however reached Ronald, who was still wailing away. The shard had phoenix feather core attached and was red hot with the anger the piece of Phoenix felt for being used for such foul things. It scratched the boys forehead when it flew at him from the force of the explosion, cutting his skin open as he wailed more in pain at the heat. He rubbed his hands against it and the splinter fell out of his head, which bled crimson like his hair. Upon his head was a scar now, red and jagged, like a lightning bolt. The red head wailed and cried for Mummy.

The other two toddlers were silent as they fell back onto their blankets, exhaustion at their feat filling them. As they fell into exhausted sleep their hands fell apart and the dome dissolved, undiscovered and unknown. Unseen except by two who would be forgotten. For when the Potters returned they looked at Ronald and his scar first, proclaiming him the Boy Who Lived, with Dumbledore speaking the words 'marked as his equal' and taking the scar as proof. The Potters, the world, and the 'wise' Dumbledore had picked the wrong child. And that was a mistake they would know forever.

* * *

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